


The worst joke ever

by ElsaFH (Elsa0806)



Category: Bleach
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Dudes Being Gay, M/M, Pre-Slash, dorks being dorks, just guys being dudes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 08:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18311843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsa0806/pseuds/ElsaFH
Summary: Grimmjow comes to the realization, after a bit of introspection, that he wants to possess Ichigo the same way every Hollow wants to possess what is not meant for them.





	The worst joke ever

**Author's Note:**

> Well, hello~
> 
> This is my first time writing something directly in English, so I apologize before hand if there're any mistakes. My Spanish and my English get mixed way too easily and it's hard to tell if the way I'm writing is... grammatically correct. 
> 
> This came to me out of the blue after I realized I was going to fail my Japanese quiz tomorrow, so... yeah, I ain't got no degree, but at least I've got these dumbasses. 
> 
> The same song: the characters and the canon world don't belong to me. They're Tite Kubo's property, while we try to fix the Mess™ that manga finale was. 
> 
> This is pretty short compared to what I usually write in Spanish, but meh, it can't be helped. I'm just trynna improve my writing skills, which I will absolutely need if I want to graduate. Study linguistics, they said. It'll be fun, they said. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it! If you find any mistake, please let me know to fix it. Constructive criticism is always welcome ♥

Looking at him made him feel uneasy.

It’s not like he’d been trying to avoid the weird feeling lurking in his… well, _heart—_ if he could really call it that. He was a Hollow; having a heart was kind of the basic no-no. He wasn’t supposed to feel anything but rage, jealousy and envy towards the humans, towards the Shinigami, towards everything that wasn’t like him. Grimmjow didn’t have a heart and he had a fucking hole in the middle of his stomach to prove it. Feelings? Not for him. Admiration? Another no-no. The only feelings he allowed himself to have were— well, every single feeling a Hollow like him should have. Nothing less, nothing more and any other thing would be absolutely obliterated by his mind.

But then Kurosaki— fucking _Kurosaki_ had shown up. And Grimmjow couldn’t help but think about Kurosaki like everything Hueco Mundo didn’t have. Sunlight. Warmth. Laughter. All of those things that were absolutely forbidden for a Hollow (ignoring Nelliel, of course, because she was _something else_ ) because they were exactly the reason people turned into Hollows. Wanting them was normal; he’d always felt a burning desire to possess them, to claw at them, to make them _his_. There was no other reason to desire them else than his most basic instinct.

In that way, the unease he felt when looking at the Shinigami was logical. Grimmjow didn’t retort to logic if it wasn’t strictly necessary, because destruction never followed it. Destruction was the least logical thing in the four realms, and he _shouldn’t_ have to use it in that situation, but there he was, analyzing almost mathematically every single twist of his gut, the weird leap his biological heart seemed to produce and every single hitching breath that stuck in his throat. Because if Kurosaki was everything Hueco Mundo wasn’t and he was _exactly_ what Hollows lusted after, wasn’t it logical to feel the raw desire to possess him?

Kurosaki was sweating— of course he was. He was always sweating during and after one of their fights. Even if it was something like a game (which shouldn’t have been, of course, because Grimmjow still wanted to _kill him_ ), Kurosaki didn’t seem to think about their encounters as such. Everytime their swords clashed, igniting sparkles through the air with the sound of screeching metal, Grimmjow could feel _how serious_ the Shinigami was. Kurosaki didn’t see him as a game; every fight was as serious as their first one, as serious as that unforgettable one under the fake sky of Las Noches and Grimmjow would _never_ admit it out loud, but he was thankful for that.

Dabbing at his mouth to dry the single thread of blood hanging from the corner of his lips, Kurosaki frowned. There wasn’t much left of his shihakushou; his right sleeve was completely torn, ripped from the stitches by the avid claws of Pantera. The left one, the one he had used to dry the blood, wasn’t in better conditions, but at least served to its purpose. Grimmjow grinned, trying to catch his breath; the damn brat was _good_. Torn, bleeding, with his clothes a weird shade of brown because of the dust— he was so _good_. So _strong_. Grimmjow felt he would never get enough of his power, of the overpowering reiatsu that seeped from his skin like blood. Inhaling was exhilarating, _tasting_ his blood on his mouth— coppery, salty and filled with so much energy he couldn’t imagine something better than him, was a personal pleasure of his. No creature in the four realms would ever taste this good on his tongue.

“You alright there, Grimmjow?” the brat said. He seemed to run his tongue across his molars as if looking for a lose one. He spat, saliva and blood staining the ground underneath their feet and then smiled. It wasn’t a friendly smile and the Arrancar loved it. “Seems like you need a break.”

Grimmjow snorted, his eyebrows flying to his hairline.

“A break?” he repeated, adjusting his hold on the hilt of Pantera. His zanpakutou screamed under his touch, lusting for another taste of that blood. “Didn’t think of you as a comedian, Kurosaki.”

Kurosaki flipped the short sword of Zangetsu mindlessly, as if to keep his hand busy in between the start of another rush of clashing metal and spat curses.

“I’m very funny, mind you” the brat scoffed, an amused glint in his eyes. Grimmjow wondered if that was what their relationship had come to— amusement, annoyance. Snarky jokes, sarcastic replies that would’ve been worth a punch to the gut a few years ago. Kurosaki constantly ignoring some of his most bad mannered comments the same way one would do with a friend. “Or at least that’s what I’ve been told.”

“Whoever told you that” Grimmjow started, lifting Pantera to point at Kurosaki with its tip, “is a fucking liar.”

Kurosaki laughed— breathless, shakily. Grimmjow wanted to smack his face against the ground. How _dare_ he. In which universe was Grimmjow so funny that had Kurosaki bent by the waist, holding his stomach as if he couldn’t stop cackling? Fucking brat. He was gonna obliterate him and then it’d be fun to see if the kid still had enough good bones to laugh. Maybe puncture a lung, knock his teeth off. Maybe _that way_ he wouldn’t be laughing at Grimmjow—

“And you tell me _I’m_ the comedian, Grimmjow?” the Shinigami laughed, trying to suppress the last bubbling giggles rising in his throat. The smile plastered across his features was beautiful, and Grimmjow wasn’t about to try to deny it. He could admit the brat had a beautiful smile, at least to himself. His eyes, on the other hand— those irises were something out of any of the four worlds. A deep brown, dusted with gold and cinnamon. The stars didn’t shine back there at Hueco Mundo, thus Grimmjow was enamored with them. Yeah, they were fucking gas spheres burning at thousands of thousand lightyears from there, all the way across the universe, and this _fucker_ had a galaxy in each eye. Was it even fair? It was impossible to not soften at the sight of those stars; even a Hollow like him could tell. “C’mon, let’s go again. I kinda wanna kick your ass.”

Grimmjow rolled his eyes.

“Come at me, brat” he spat, grinning at the kid, eyes glinting with joy. “If you land a good punch, I might show you my Resurrección. I know you’re _dying_ to see it again.”

The stars in his eyes sparkled, ignited by the mere thought. Grimmjow was almost joking, but the absolute thrill in those irises erased every single trace of joke. The kid _wanted_ to see him at full force, as always, and just for the sake of showing off, Grimmjow wouldn’t deny him the pleasure.

Kurosaki did land a good punch on him. The tip of the long sword of Zangetsu felt like a raging fire against his Hierro, slicing through skin and muscle, blood following the black metal suit. Hadn’t been for his reflexes and the swing he aimed at Kurosaki, the kid probably would’ve pierced his chest. The deep cut on his skin adjacent to the scar he gave him all of those years ago, marking an X on his Hierro, blood flowing from the wound like a neon sign.

“You _fucker_ ” Grimmjow hissed, nailing Kurosaki right in the jaw with his fist. He felt and heard the satisfying _crack_ underneath his knuckles, saw the pain crumping his features like paper. Kurosaki leaped back, stopping a few meters from Grimmjow, massaging the tender skin of his face, moving his jaw side to side to test the importance of the injury. “What the _actual fuck_ , Kurosaki.”

“You wanted me to land a good punch, didn’t you?” the brat retorted, frowning at Grimmjow. There was blood on the corner of his mouth again, his teeth pinkish from the liquid.

“It was a figure of speech” the Arrancar hissed, running his fingertips along the length of the cut. Blood stained his pale skin, smelling like copper, salt and _anger_ , because he didn’t think he’d lower his guard enough for the brat to actually hit him with Zangetsu. It wasn’t like Grimmjow didn’t think the kid could do it, but he didn’t expect for him to do it as soon as the words were out of his mouth. Either he’d been too clueless and distracted to dodge, or the kid was _really_ eager to see Pantera’s Resurrección again. “You have a death wish, dontcha?”

“It do be like that sometimes” the Shinigami snorted, rolling his shoulders as if the hit to his jaw had numbed his entire upper half. “So” he started, grinning like a motherfucker, “gonna release that zanpakutou or do I have to land another _good_ punch on ya?”

Grimmjow mirrored Kurosaki’s grin with his own— animalistic, yearning for adrenaline, pain and blood.

He scratched his nails along the length of Pantera, leaving traces of blood on the pale metal behind his fingertips.

“Grind, Pantera.”

* * *

 

“My, my” Urahara snapped his fan closed, looking at Grimmjow as if he’d never seen such a mess before. “You two really had a good time today.”

“Shut the fuck up, Urahara” Grimmjow groaned, lying on his back.

“Yeah, what he said” Kurosaki mumbled, his face pressed to the ground.

It had been a good fight. Bankai against Resurrección and all out, swords clashing with each other, blood flowing from wounds, bruises mapping their skins like blossoming flowers. Hadn’t Grimmjow been a Hollow, the kid would have knocked off a few of his teeth. There wasn’t any logical reason to reach those extremes, but nor Grimmjow nor Kurosaki were about logic when it came to fight— not at least in that sense. Strategic thinking was a must, but they never stopped to think about why would they go all out if it wasn’t a serious fight.

But that was the thing with Kurosaki. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t a serious fight he always fought with everything, played all his cards and tried to win. The brat hated to lose as much as Grimmjow did and the draw that found them at the end of the fight didn’t satisfy either of them, but at least it left them absolutely exhausted. That was something. Aching body, bleeding cuts and a split lip, maybe a few sprains, tender skin under the hard touch of the ground.

Yeah, it was definitely a good fight.

“You two are so grumpy. It’s adorable” the man laughed, opening his fan like a mindless reflex, swinging it in front of his face as if to ease a sudden wave of warmth. “Clean up, boys, it’s time for dinner. Tessai will kick my ass if you’re late again.”

“Is that supposed to make me move faster?” Grimmjow asked, looking at Urahara from his position on the ground. Pantera was a few meters away from his hand, his clothes were almost nonexistent and his body didn’t want to move. And with the chance of Urahara’s ass getting kicked by glasses— the perspective of lying there for a few hours was seriously appealing. “Because the ground is suddenly very comfortable. Might even take a nap here.”

“What an ungrateful child you are, Grimmjow-san” Urahara sighed, shaking his head in faux disappointment.

“Fuck right off.”

“Kindly” the man said, raising his hands with his palms turned to Grimmjow as if to physically stop the conversation. “What about you, Kurosaki-san? Are you eating with us?”

Kurosaki waved his hand —apparently the only part of his body he was able to move—, diminishing Urahara’s offer, probably too tired to be polite.

“Pass” he said, voice muffled by the soil. A small cloud of dust followed every word leaving his mouth like the smoke of a cigarette. “Yuzu’s making dinner anyway. She’ll save me something if I don’t make it in time.”

“Don’t take advantage of your sister” the Arrancar huffed, closing his eyes. The smile Urahara directed at him struck him the wrong way— it looked like the man knew something Grimmjow didn’t. He didn’t like not knowing things. So he used his exhaustion as a cheap excuse to not look at the grinning face looming over him like a moon he wanted to punch into oblivion. “Cook your goddamn food.”

“If I wasn’t bone tired” Kurosaki started, “I’d beat you up again.”

“Come and get it, Kurosaki.”

“Move your ass if you want to get punched so bad, asshole.”

“You’re the one trying to fight me, you idiot.”

“Enough of that” Urahara interrupted. Grimmjow could hear the laughter in his voice. “You fight like a married couple.”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck off.”

Grimmjow snickered under his breath. One of the few things he and Kurosaki always agreed on was to try to piss Urahara off. It never worked, of course, because the man always seemed to be entertained by their efforts, but it didn’t make it any less satisfying. Fighting like children wasn’t something Grimmjow was used to, but he couldn’t deny he liked it. Cursing at each other, spitting insults and threats was their way to be— whatever the hell they were. The Arrancar was sure they weren’t friends, although Kurosaki did try to befriend every person that was once his enemy. They weren’t comrades nor acquaintances, but they were _something_. It was weird and comfortable at the same time and Grimmjow couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but it wasn’t unpleasant. They fought; they drank together once in a while. They trained, sweated and bleed together. There wasn’t anything to compare it with, because Grimmjow had never had such a thing, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy their little verbal fights. And even though he wanted to smack Urahara’s face now and then, he couldn’t help but be grateful to be given the chance to make Kurosaki bite the dust.

“I’ll be off, then” Urahara said. Grimmjow opened his eyes, just to find the former Shinigami grinning. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected that expression on his face, but it still irked him. “I’ll let your father know you’re getting home late, Kurosaki-san.”

“Tell my old man I won’t be home until midnight or so” Kurosaki groaned, trying —and failing— to lie on his back. His aching body didn’t seem to respond to his efforts, which only made him grumble in frustration. “Gotta patrol tonight.”

“You just got your ass handed to you, stay home for tonight” Grimmjow snorted, managing to sit. He cracked his neck, massaging the base of his skull right there where one of Kurosaki’s kicks had nailed him. “Someone will take care of any Hollow that shows up.”

“Worried about my wellbeing, Jaegerjaquez?” the Shinigami laughed, finally rolling onto his back. His eyes were fixed on the fake sky above their heads, eyelashes fluttering closed when the new position of his body made his bruised ribs throb. “ _Motherfucker_ ” he hissed under his breath, crunching his nose and placing one hand over the tender skin. Grimmjow flinched at the sound, suddenly worried he’d made too much damage. He discarded the thought as soon as it showed up in his mind, shoving it into the darkest corner of his mind. “I’ll have to ask my dad to heal this.”

“Don’t be a pussy.”

“I gotta go to school, Grimmjow” Kurosaki puffed, fighting to sit while clawing at his ribs.

“Tessai can heal that now if you’d like to, Kurosaki-san” Urahara offered.

“Weren’t you off?” Kurosaki asked, a small smile dusting his lips. “But yeah, that’s an offer I won’t reject. Let’s go, Grimmjow.”

* * *

 

Patched up, recently healed and bone tired, Kurosaki yawned into his hand while he readjusted Zangetsu’s short sword on his hip. With his recovered reiryoku, the fabric of his shihakushou seemed to come out of the blue while his cuts, bruises and sprains were healed one by one. The mess that was his hair was stained with blood and there was dirt all over his skin there where reached the eye. His bones popped when he got up stretching his arms above his head to ease the numbness of sore muscles and sensitive articulations. He cringed at the feeling, crunching his nose.

Grimmjow realized, after all those years, that Kurosaki had freckles sprinkled all over his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. The Arrancar frowned. What the _fuck_. Stars in his eyes and stars on his skin. The kid was a complete _universe_ made of flesh and bone, and he held the power of one too. How could it be even possible for someone like him to exist was something beyond his understanding. While Kurosaki massaged one of his shoulders, rolling it to get rid of the stiffness, Grimmjow found himself marveled by the fingers that circled on the shihakushou.

Oh no, fuck. Fuck that noise. There was a name to what they were, but it was one that he didn’t have the right to claim. No Hollow would ever bear such privilege, and no being on this or any other realm would ever be worthy of it. If the new light Grimmjow was seeing Kurosaki under was _exactly what he thought_ , he was utterly fucked. He wanted nothing but to crash it under the sole of his boot, bury it beneath all the sand of Hueco Mundo. And Kurosaki would never _grant_ him the privilege. It was so _weird_ , realizing right there and then than the Shinigami wasn’t only a Shinigami but a human— one that felt pain, one that aged and one that would die someday, and not necessarily under Pantera. And Grimmjow, an Arrancar, a Hollow from head to toe, found himself _wanting_ to spend that limited time by his side. Fighting him, beating the crap out of him. Throwing empty threats only for the sake of seeing the stars in his eyes come to life, trying to make Urahara angry just for shit and giggles. Insulting each other like children after their fights, when their swords were finally silenced and out of their reach because they were too exhausted to move a limb.

“I’ll be off, then” Kurosaki said, rolling his shoulders one last time. He turned to face Grimmjow, fixing a defiant glare on the Arrancar as a shit eating grin devoured his features. “Same time next week?”

“As if I’d miss the chance to make you bite the dust” Grimmjow huffed, sitting cross legged under the kotatsu. He waved his hand at Kurosaki, telling him off without looking at those eyes that seemed to sparkle under the idea of a new appointment to train with the Arrancar. “Don’t die before I kill you.”

“Stop worrying about my safety, Grimmjow” the Shinigami laughed, his grin growing until it almost reached his ears. “Otherwise I’ll think you’ve fallen for me.”

It took all of Grimmjow’s willpower not to throw the closest thing at him.

“Piss off, Kurosaki.”

“Yeah, yeah. See ya next week.”

Kurosaki said his goodbyes, promising to stay for dinner next week. After a short chatting with Urahara about someone called Kyouraku, he finally left the store, the traces of his reiatsu burning in Grimmjow’s senses. Even when the kid was out of sight the power he held still impregnated everything he touched, even the ground where he stood. Wherever Kurosaki went there he left his mark. He was like a beacon, shining brighter and brighter everytime, and the light that shone upon him seemed to never turn off. He attracted both good and bad people, people that followed him and his marks like footprints drawn in the snow. And Grimmjow, silly, exhausted and yearning for light Grimmjow, was one of the most affected by it.

How could he refuse to such a wave of sunlight? Through the fog in the shore that had been his life until he met Kurosaki all those years ago, the Shinigami seemed to be a lifeline, guiding him to safety. Grimmjow had no idea why, but he couldn’t picture his life without Kurosaki in it. Even if said safety included a few broken bones, new scars all over his body with each week passing and more blood spilled than he had to spare, Kurosaki was safe. He’d surely be waiting for him in Urahara’s training grounds, sword in hand, ready to fight him, to go all out because he respected Grimmjow. And among all those unsure things in his life, even his own existence, it wasn’t hard to get attached to the only thing Grimmjow knew for sure would never waver. Like the sun, Kurosaki burned with passion and _life_ , with kindness and all the things a Hollow yearned for.

Falling for him was the logical thing to do.

“I’ll get going too” Grimmjow said, sitting up and immediately missing the warmth of the kotatsu. He popped the vertebrae of his neck, cringing at the feeling that heated the flesh around the bones. Tessai’s eyes lifted from the pages in front of him, the pencil stopping right at the end of the sentence he’d been writing. After their fight of the week, glasses seemed to register in a journal every wound, injure and bruise Kurosaki bore at the end of the encounter. “Tell Urahara to save some sake for next week.”

“I’ll let him know, Grimmjow-dono” the man nodded, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. “Is there any message you’d like to leave for Kurosaki-dono?”

“Kurosaki?” the Arrancar repeated in a snort. He realized way too late that his voice had been a bit too high pitched, a bit too broken, as if there was something weird about leaving a message for the guy he’d fight next week. Grimmjow hated himself for letting his thoughts get to him like that.

“Yes” Tessai said, unimpressed by the sudden reaction. “Maybe you’d like to invite Kurosaki-dono to have a few drinks with us? I’m sure he’ll enjoy it.”

Grimmjow bit the inside of his cheek, the soft and tender flesh tearing apart under his sharp molars. Tasting blood on his tongue and the back of his throat, he shrugged.

“I don’t mind if the brat decides to tag along” he said, seemingly uninterested. He’d never admit that the idea of sharing some time with Kurosaki out of the training grounds sent chills down his spine; it wasn’t common for Kurosaki to stay at the shop and drink with them. He was too much of a goody two shoes for that.

The times when Kurosaki tagged along and drank with them were precious, and Grimmjow came to the realization the same way he realized he wanted to possess the light that shone upon him. Possess, cherish, call his. Didn’t matter the option. Thing is, he hadn’t seen how much he enjoyed those evenings, and the idea of spending a lazy night being a drunk idiot that spat the same curses he did when sober but slurred thrilled him more than he’d expected. Because the drunk haze that bathed Kurosaki’s eyes was a gift, and his bubbling laughter wasn’t something he was able to ignore, didn’t matter how much he tried.

“If Kurosaki’s tagging along” he said, after a few moments of silence, “tell Urahara to get his best sake. I want to see the brat fucking wasted.”

The Garganta opened then at the tip of his fingers, in the middle of the air, the nebulous path leading to his home moving like silk on the wind.

“I’ll let him know.”

Grimmjow left then, trying to leave behind the thoughts of Kurosaki but failing miserably. The realization, he thought, would follow him until the end of his days or until he stopped feeling like Kurosaki was the sun Hollows so eagerly pursued into the Living World, changing the entire paradigm and turning things upside down.

A Hollow feeling things that were limited only to humans and those who bore human feelings. That had to be a fucking bad joke. The worst of all.

He’d laugh it off and kick Kurosaki’s ass, even if he felt a twist in his guts at the thought. 

**Author's Note:**

> Is Grimmjow a depressed adult? Yup. Do I love him for that? Also yup. 
> 
> Am I going to stop being a sap for him pinning after Ichigo? LMAO NO MY DUDES
> 
> Edit: come and scream @ me in Twitter @Xhiiluh
> 
> Edit nº2: a huge thank you to pineconesoup for pointing out a few mistakes they found in my writing! I'll be forever thank you with you, darling ♥


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